Dented Iron
by The Fighting Irishman
Summary: "It is sad to go to pieces like this…but we all have to do it." -Mark Twain An introspective look at the reality of injury and time in the TrodaireVerse, to varying degrees.


A/N: I own nothing.

**KNOT ISLAND, 7 A.M.**

Arach had once heard a saying that the older one got, the less one needed to sleep. Well, he wasn't sure about the use of the word _needing_ or any such derivative, but he could confidently agree on the truth that he _got _less sleep. Not that he had ever slept much to begin with.

It was a little after eight in the morning. Arach had gotten up long before his wife and children (who were home from college that week), and was quietly making his way through the house. They'd bought the place many years ago, and they had plans to live there for the rest of their lives. It was a quiet little place on the Sevii Islands, in particular on Knot Island in the middle of Ember city. The city was tucked away on the shore of the great ocean, with a thick forest before a long stretch of assorted terrain called Kindle Road that led to the mighty Mount Ember. Rumors persisted of a brilliant phoenix-like creature that roosted at the top of the mountain, and that was responsible for the inordinately warm temperature on the island even in the middle of the winter months. Arach chuckled at this. Moltres was _not _so powerful as to effect the weather itself, and the bird certainly didn't need its ego stroked any further than it already was.

The sun was beginning to rise, and in a few minutes it would most likely be directly in line with the peak of Mount Ember in the distance. That would be the great bird's cue to wake up as well, but Arach wasn't interested in the sleeping patterns of a legendary bird. He was more interested in checking in with an old friend.

Salamence was lazily trotting up and down the beachfront that their cottage had, playfully smacking his tail against the sand. The creature was old and tired, yet still possessed quite the bright and sprightly sense of humor. Like that of a Bagon still.

Arach felt the cool sand underfoot, and quietly walked up to his old friend's side. He laid a hand on the Dragon-type's back, and Salamence initially tensed at the feel of a human hand. It relaxed, though, when it saw that it was simply its master. Arach smiled softly.

"Didn't sleep well, did you old friend?" He asked.

Salamence snorted and shook its head. As if! Salamence had never slept well in years. It adopted a wry smile to ward off its master's worry, but there was no denying the truth. It wasn't so much the age that kept Salamence awake. It was the years of battling taking their toll.

Salamence's skin, tough and thick as it was, was knotted and covered with scars and faded and healing wounds. It had a few new ones as a result of its abortive attempt to train at the Charicific Valley with Lance, until the young Dragon Master had decided that he had a heart and sent the elder dragon home. Arach was pleased to see that some of the nagging injuries were starting to heal, and that movement for Salamence wasn't quite that difficult as it had been in previous months.

But there was no denying that there was a change. Salamence could no longer play chase with Arach's daughters and their Arcanine for extended periods of time, and was starting to get a little soft in its age. It's belly was beginning to protrude slightly, enough that Drasna had to regrettably change Salamence's diet so that it did not develop an unhealthy body it was no longer capable of exercising into shape. There was a greater sense of economy of movement in Salamence's gait, so that it got from point A to point B in as little movement and energy as possible. This was undeniable. Arach felt his hand cross over a particularly nasty scar, and smiled wistfully.

"I remember this one, don't you?" He asked. Salamence gave a Dragonly chuckle and nodded. The knotting was right behind its ear, and was the direct result of a brutal head kick courtesy of Gary Oak's Tyranitar. That had almost stopped the battle outright, as the blood was enough to make even the _Tyranitar_ back away in disgust. But Salamence had managed to hang on to win the fight. Arach and Salamence reminisced a bit about how white Oak's face had been when he offered to pay for the hospital bills, only for Arach to gently rebuff the offer. The best thing that Gary could do was eventually take the championship off of Arach in the future.

And two years later (at least until his friend Red came back down from Mount Silver), that's exactly what happened.

There were scratches and signs of scar tissue in Salamence's wings. The local nurse had given the old Dragon a check-up after it had returned from Lance's care, and Arach noted the awe in her voice as she gave the run-down.

"This Salamence shouldn't even be able to stand." She had said with shock. "It's like it survived some hits through sheer force of will."

"What's your orders?" Arach asked, knowing the answer already before she even said it.

"Complete retirement."

"Does it bother you, old friend?" Arach asked. Salamence turned to look at him, quizzically. "That you can no longer compete?" Arach clarified. Salamence nodded in understanding, and seemed to mull it over. It sighed a little bit, and its once-playful tail flopped listlessly to the ground. It stared at its master directly in the eye, and it was clear that the answer was yes. Arach began to scratch right behind Salamence's ear in sympathy, thinking over the right words to say. Arach was just a shade over 50, and his team was essentially the same since when he was a child. Still, this was the first time that he'd have to speak to a Pokemon of his that had retired. He knew it wouldn't be the last.

"I know." He said. "I wish that I had all the answers here, especially when it feels like I do, doesn't it?" He asked with a grin. Salamence chuckled. Arach looked thoughtful. "But I suppose that the best thing that I can advise you to do is remember the memories." He said. Salamence nodded a little bit, so Arach kept going. "Don't think about what you can't do anymore, as if you still need to do these things. People remember you, and they certainly know what you were capable of. They know that you don't owe them anything, and to think otherwise is foolish. And for those that think that you still owe them one more fight? Well, they never mattered all that much anyway." He looked at Salamence directly in the eye. "And don't think that you owe _me_ anything anymore, either. You stopped needing to prove yourself ages ago. And I couldn't have asked for a better run from you."

Salamence looked like it was about to cry. Arach pulled the Dragon's head in close for an embrace, and the two held it for a while. When they broke, Salamence was smiling through the tears. Arach held a hand to Salamence's cheek.

"You've earned the right to rest easy. Now the two of us can enjoy retirement together like the old men we are, hmm?" He asked. Salamence rolled its eyes. Arach glanced in the direction of Mount Ember, and noticed that an unusual haze of red was emitting from the summit. "I think that Mount Ember is no longer vacant." He turned to Salamence. "What do you think? Shall we fly by and give our fiery friend a welcome back?"

Salamence didn't make a noise, instead lowering its shoulders so that Arach could climb onto its back. Arach clicked his heels, and Salamence took off. It was not at a racer's speed; but rather the speed of a leisurely ride. As they gently climbed into the air, Arach's voice could be heard over the rush of the wind.

"Now, when we get there…I want you to withhold from your regular Flamethrower challenge. I don't need Drasna to go buying me _another_ shirt because of you two children…"

**VEILSTONE CITY POKEMON CENTER, NOON**

** Maylene hated hospitals. She'd learned from a very young age, early on in her martial arts career, to be stubborn in refusing treatment if it wasn't a serious injury. Still, there was a fine line between stubborn and stupid, and if something was serious enough then it needed to be treated. Safety first, after all. Still, the extreme difference in atmosphere between the folksy, earthen musk of a dojo against the sterile freshness of a hospital room was sometimes a bit much for her to handle.**

** Clearly it was bothering her Infernape as well, who was sitting on the doctor's table, its legs dangling over the ledge. It had tried to sit cross-legged like it preferred, but the pain in its lower back was simply too much. Maylene had foregone a regular checkup at the Pokemon Center when it became clear that a standard treatment wasn't quite enough, and was now at the end of the long line of doctors leading up to this specialist. Hopefully he knew what the problem was.**

** The door opened, and the doctor stepped in. Doctor Miles Power was a tall, lanky man whose doctor's coat hung loosely and awkwardly off of his shoulders like a smock. He kept a pencil tucked behind his ear, those it was a wonder his bushy hair didn't knock the thing out of place. He smiled pleasantly at Maylene and Infernape, and began tacking X-Ray scans to the wall for them to see. He adjusted his glasses, scratched his bushy black beard and turned to face them.**

** "Wanna take a guess what I see here?" He asked. It wasn't mean-spirited or condescending; it was clear that the doctor was interested in teaching his patients what the problem was. Maylene glanced at the photos for a while, before helplessly shrugging.**

** "There's something wrong with my Infernape's back?" She asked. Doctor Power chuckled, though there wasn't too much humor to it.**

** "Yes, unfortunately." He tapped one sheet, and pointed to two of what appeared to be vertebrae in Infernape's back. "There's a prolapsed intervertebral disc between his L5 and S1 vertebrae. In medical terms, that's a spinal disc herniation. You might know it as a slipped disc." He adjusted his glasses again. "How did this happen, exactly?" He asked. Maylene sighed.**

** "A battle against a Machoke two weeks ago. The thing used a Take Down to tackle Infernape into a rock, and it caught Infernape's back awkwardly. I had to recall him even though he wasn't knocked out, because it was clear that he'd messed something up." She said.**

** "I would agree with that decision." Doctor Power said. "Because if you'd kept him going this could've been even more serious." When he noticed Maylene breathe a sigh of relief, he cleared his throat. "However, I'd better not underplay this: I wouldn't clear him to compete in his current condition." He checked a file on his holopad. "Luckily, based on the medical records you've sent over the years, it doesn't appear that Infernape has had any other serious injuries in its life, so the body won't be so damaged that it limits our options for fixing." He said. "Because make no mistake, this needs to be treated."**

** "What are our options?" Maylene asked. **

** "Off the top of my head, based on the severity of this injury, which thankfully isn't end-of-the-world-bad, there are a few: Electrostimulation, Laser light therapy, Ultrasound, Hot/cold, weightlifting, or straight-up surgery." He said.**

** "Why wouldn't we want to have surgery?" Maylene asked.**

** "Frankly? It would lay up Infernape for a few months, seeing as how he's a registered competitor and the recovery process is carefully monitored. The other options might get him on the field faster, but at the risk of not completely treating the problem, only for it to worsen as the years go by and lead to a catastrophic injury." Doctor Power adjusted his glasses again. "Having treated countless Fighting types in the past, I can assure you that I would be more than able to surgically repair his back like there never was an injury. BUT…" He tapped his chin. "I think that, in the aftermath of this injury, you might need to start thinking about his fighting style."**

** "How so?" Maylene asked.**

** "Quite frankly, if a Pokemon who was injured by brawling goes straight back to brawling after recovery, then nothing's been learned has there? Thus, I would recommend considering modifying his fight style a bit. Maybe a little more cerebral, and less violent. I know Infernapes like to rely on their berserker speed. But an Infernape fighting like an Infernape on a surgically repaired back is asking for trouble. Do you have any Psychic-Fighting combos?" He asked. Maylene nodded. "Good. Whatever option you choose to deal with this problem, have them deal with Infernape post-recovery in adjusting his style. It isn't so much limiting what he can do, it's thinking while out on the battlefield instead of just doing." **

** Maylene glanced over at Infernape, who looked acceptant if a little bit sullen. **

** "I think he's a little bit upset." She said. **

** "Totally understandable." Doctor Power said. "But it's my job to make sure that you can walk for the rest of your life, and I take that job very seriously. So, do you know what choice you'd like to do for recovery?" He asked.**

** Infernape glanced at Maylene.**

** Maylene looked at Infernape.**

** They weren't certain.**

_SAFFRON CITY'S THE FIGHT CLUB, 8 P.M._

_ "Trodaire, you're bleeding."_

_ The Orrean glanced down at his hands. His knuckles were cracked and redding underneath the hand wrapped tape. _

_ "So I am." He said with a smile._

_ "Wanna tell me how that happened?" His girlfriend, Sabrina, asked him. Trodaire looked her and shrugged._

_ "Sparring." He said. She crossed her arms and frowned a little bit. "Okay, it might've been a little bit hardcore." Sabrina groaned._

_ "You need to stop doing that." She said. "You could get hurt." Trodaire smiled, and pulled her into a hug. _

_ "What, me worry?" He asked. "I'm in my twenties, and I'm made of iron. I'll be fine."_

_ Sabrina looked up at him. _

_ "Yeah, you're right. You are." She said. "But don't forget that you won't be in your twenties forever. And that iron can be dented."_

_ "Is that a threat?" He looked her in the eye with a cheesy grin. Sabrina shook her head sincerely._

_ "A warning from someone who loves you." She said firmly. She gently broke off the hug. "You smell. Take a shower and then we'll head up to Cerulean for Misty's movie night." She smiled sardonically and walked to her gym to get what she needed._

_ Trodaire watched her walk out the door, smiling wistfully as she left. He found himself glancing at the mirror to his side. He was sweating, his tape was red, and he was exhausted. Sore, yet happy._

_ His smile disappeared slowly as he felt his hands throb with a pain too acute for soreness, because he knew she was probably right._

_ Probably?_

_ Hell, she __**was**__ right._

_ He walked off to the shower, making a mental note that it might be time to stop breaking his wooden dummies._

_ For his own sake._

A little introspective One-Shot here, inspired by the passage of time and the recent string of news of famous athletes suffering ugly injuries. (Anderson Silva, for the brave) The TrodaireVerse isn't just about the lightness of being; it's also about remembering the beautiful fragility of life, too.

…

…Okay, that's enough serious talk. The next thing I write'll be funnier I promise. In the meantime, check out BlackLadyCharon's **Cost of the Crown**, a TrodaireVerse extension that I'm co-writing with her. She deserves the looks!

Till next time, dear readers.

TFI


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